A Glimpse Of The Future
by Telperion
Summary: Jack uses the ghost machine to revisit a part of his past. Implied JackNine slash.


Disclaimer: Doctor Who and Torchwood belong to the BBC and Russell T. Davies. They are not mine, nor will they ever be.

Spoilers: Torchwood 'Ghost Machine'; Doctor Who 'Boom Town'

A Glimpse Of The Future

Jack stood in front of his open safe, contemplating what he was about to do. In his hands was cradled the quantum transducer – the 'ghost machine', as the others had taken to calling it.

He knew he was doing the wrong thing, that he would regret it later, but he couldn't seem to stop himself. The memories were still there – he didn't think he would ever lose them, unlike some others he could mention – but that's all they were, memories. He needed to remind himself that it had all actually _happened_, that there was more to it than just images in his mind. He needed to see those images in front of his eyes, to reinforce their reality.

Sighing, Jack gently pushed the safe door closed. It didn't matter that it was the wrong thing – he _had_ to do it. Grabbing his coat from its hook, he swung it over his shoulders and shoved the transducer deep into his pocket. Then he headed for the exit.

* * *

Sat on a bench in front of the Millennium Centre, Jack gazed across the plaza towards the fountain. It being a Tuesday afternoon, there weren't many people around, which suited him just fine. The last thing he needed was crowds of people getting in the way, or eyeing him suspiciously as he sat staring into space for hours on end. Gwen, Owen, and the others might notice him if they cared to check the security feed. But even if they did, they wouldn't bother him. They knew that Jack sometimes didn't want to be disturbed when he went off on his own, that sometimes he just needed to be left alone. 

And what he definitely needed to be right now was alone. He didn't want any interruptions. He had promised himself that this was a one-time thing – no repetitions. So this one time had to go without a hitch.

Gingerly, he removed the ghost machine from his pocket. Its lights were doing their usual slow dance, and as he held it out in front of him, Jack suddenly wondered if the device would let this happen, if it wouldn't take matters into its own hands, so to speak, and deny him what he had been longing for the past week.

But he needn't have worried. Almost immediately the flashing lights went into a frenzy, and Jack felt the weird sense of dislocation described to him by Gwen and Owen.

At first the plaza was full of images – happy couples strolling through on dates, a mugger being chased by the angry man from whom he had stolen a mobile phone, even Jack's own team walking back towards the Hub, laughing at some joke that probably wasn't even all that funny. But then Jack exerted his will, and all these images faded to be replaced by the one he most wanted to see – the appearance of a blue box, about ten feet high, with the words 'Police Public Call Box' emblazoned across the top.

He watched as several recalled people walked past it without giving it a second glance. Observed as the figure of Rose's pseudo-boyfriend Mickey walked towards it, looking excited but vaguely apprehensive at the same time. Saw himself yank open the door before Mickey could knock on it, and then stand back as the guy pushed his way past him.

But none of this was what Jack really wanted to see. He was still waiting, watching the blue box, when its door opened again, and four people stepped out. One himself, one Mickey, one Rose…and one the Doctor. Their emotions swirled around him. The Doctor, carefree for once. Rose's adoration, verging on worship, of the Time Lord. Mickey's confusion – his happiness at seeing Rose, his jealousy of the Doctor, and his wariness of the dashing new American warring within him. And Jack himself…he was happy. It surprised the watching Jack just how happy he had been. Happiness wasn't something that came easily to him – having two years of your memories wiped, coupled with the stress of being chased all over the place by the irate victims of confidence tricks didn't exactly make for a sense of contentment. But with the Doctor, in a life that was far more stressful than any confidence trick, he had been content.

He absently heard Mickey point out _"that old lady's staring,"_ and himself joke in reply _"probably wondering what four people could do inside a small wooden box."_ But Jack wasn't really listening. His attention was now riveted on the Doctor. He barely noticed the ghosts of himself and Mickey arguing, but the ghost of the Doctor, rattling on about the chameleon circuit and explaining why people didn't notice this strange, dilapidated blue box that could appear or disappear at a moment's notice – now that fascinated him, despite the fact that he had seen it all – _lived _it all – before.

Except that the Doctor's ghost didn't really seem like a ghost. He looked so _real_. The others looked real too, but the Doctor looked _really_ real. Jack almost expected him to turn around and ask him why he wasn't joining in the conversation.

But he didn't, and Jack watched as the little group turned and walked away towards the waterfront – the ghosts of his past leaving him in their future.

However, Jack wasn't quite ready to let them – let _him_ – go yet, so he jumped up from his bench, following the ghosts to their destination.

* * *

It still being Tuesday afternoon, the café on the pier was nearly empty, with only three tables, two of them near the cash register, seating customers. Therefore nobody really noticed the man in the slightly scruffy RAF uniform sat halfway down the restaurant, staring intently at the empty table across the aisle next to the window. The waitress who had served him coffee had raised her eyebrows at the strange-looking device he had clutched in his hands. It looked like the next generation of mobile phone, or something. But since the man so obviously didn't want to be disturbed – he had barely even acknowledged her when she set down the coffee cup – she decided not to question him about it, and instead hurried away to deal with the requests of her other customers.

* * *

"_It turns out the white things are tusks, and I mean tusks! And it's woken, and it's not happy."_

"_How could you not know it was there?"_

"_Fifteen of us, naked…"_

"_Naked?!"_

"_And I'm going 'oh no, no, it's got nothing to do with me.' And then it roars, and we are running – oh my god, we are running. And Brockovich falls, so I turn to him and say…"_

"_I knew we should have turned left!"_

Abruptly, Jack dropped the transducer, letting it clatter to the table. The four laughing figures across from him vanished, leaving nothing but empty air in their wake. Jack didn't want to see any more of that laughter, didn't want to see the Doctor suddenly sober upon seeing Margaret the Slitheen's face staring out at him from a newspaper, didn't want to see the fab four saddle up and go off to fight yet more evil in the name of good and fun and excitement. Right now, in this second, he had suddenly realised what a huge mistake he had made by coming here, tracking these ghosts, letting them draw him out of the present and into the past.

He had wanted to sharpen his memories of the Doctor, and he had. But now they were so sharp he felt like he was being stabbed by a thousand knives. Time had soothed his battered heart, if not mended it, but now he had erased any good that might have been done by cheating time and looking back on something he shouldn't have.

Standing up, Jack thrust the ghost machine into his pocket, dropped some coins on to the table, and bolted from the café.

* * *

Standing on the promenade, staring out over Cardiff Bay, Jack breathed deeply and tried to get some perspective. His escape from the café had allowed him to put some metaphorical distance between himself and the transducer-induced memories, and the fresh air had cleared his head. But that only allowed him to fully contemplate just how foolish he had been. He had allowed his own selfish desires to talk him into doing what he had known was a stupid thing. There was a reason he didn't allow members of his team to walk off with any old piece of alien technology they liked – it was so they wouldn't get hurt, either physically or mentally. But here he was, flouting his own rules, and look what had happened. 

Well, no more, he decided abruptly. There would be no more of this. No more desperate seeking for just a glance, a glimpse, anything. He would just have to wait, like he had really been doing all along. Only now he would have to be better at it. He would have to work harder at it. Because, in the end, waiting was all he really could do.

Pushing away from the promenade rail, Jack turned to walk back to the Hub. He might have to wait, but at least he could do something useful while he was at it. However, as he turned a sprinting figure careered round the corner. The figure saw Jack, but didn't have time to avoid him, and a second later Jack was lying in a heap, seeing stars, next to the very railing he had just left. The figure carried on running, seemingly not caring that it had nearly pushed a person into the waters of the bay.

"Hey!" Another figure sped around the corner, in hot pursuit of the first. As Jack struggled to raise his throbbing head, he dimly saw a pair of brown-clad legs, complete with Converse trainers, go speeding past his face.

_Another muggee chasing his mugger_, Jack surmised. Groaning, he staggered to his feet in time to see the second figure disappear behind one of the waterfront office blocks. Oddly, despite the fact that he had a rather large bump blossoming on his head where it had impacted the railing, and several grazes on his skin from the rough concrete floor, Jack suddenly felt better about himself. Waiting could be a pain sometimes, sure, but Jack suddenly knew that, no matter how long he had to wait, there would be a payoff. He was certain. He would find what he was looking for. Eventually, he would find the right kind of Doctor.


End file.
